My dad’s unwilting enthusiasm does little to reduce my anxiety actually quite augments it as I try not to hit the pavement
I am only 7 but feel very responsible not only for the things I do, like cutting the roses from the garden and having my mum get mad
but also for the things I cannot do like grabbing the handlebars assuredly and keeping the bike under me trying to perform some kind of conjuring act
Lowering the seat does help, feet now firmly on the ground with loose elbows and a light grip on the handlebars I close my eyes and, lo and behold, now I am a ballerina swirling around like in a satin-lined jewelry box
My reverie is soon interrupted by my dad’s gentle voice I tell him I did the splits, even touched my toes “Seems like you don’ t wanna ride,” he says with eyes of blue, a hint of a smile
I can still hear his voice in my ears “Don’t try to do things you don’t like just because anyone can do them”